


Bought for a Purpose

by sleep



Series: What do you mean I have to "follow the prompt"? [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, cock sheath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:59:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3923824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleep/pseuds/sleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus buys a new bot for his particular activities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bought for a Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> I would probably put this as dub-con, as this is some sort of AU where mechs are owned by people?  
> But yes. Another fill for this prompt: http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/13205.html?thread=14744213#t14744213  
> I tried to include some of the stated bonuses? I hope you like it.  
> (The pairing was chosen because I wanted to write some PWP with these two, and I wanted to write another fic for that prompt, and the size different is pretty good for these two, so why not.)  
> I hope you enjoy!

The courier – looking bored, as if delivering wares to the expensive end of the city was an everyday occurrence – knocked on the door again. This time, the waiting mechs could hear movement from inside the apartment, and after a few kliks and another salve of knocks on the door, it slid open, revealing a tired-looking mech – it was already afternoon, but the mech looked like he had just gotten out of berth – leaning against the door frame. The mech – gold and red plating shining in the afternoon light – stared hazily from the courier to the small mech beside him, then back to the courier.  
  
The courier hemmed, and held out the form on his datapad. “Sir, if you could sign for the delivery, please?”  
  
“Delivery?” The golden mech stared confused at the courier.  
  
“You _are,”_ the courier consulted the pad ,“Rodimus, correct?”  
  
The mech – Rodimus – nodded. His gaze then drifted back to the small mech standing beside the courier, and a light dawned for the tired mech. He pushed himself away from the doorway, grabbed the datapad, and swiftly signed. “Sorry, I thought it would take a little longer to arrive.” He handed the signed form back.  
  
The courier looked it over, gave Rodimus his receipt, and subspaced the datapad. “Thank you for your business, sir. I hope you have a good day.” The courier rapidly disappeared down the building, leaving Rodimus and the small mech standing alone outside of the apartment.  
  
“Well, you better come in.” Rodimus led the small mech inside, stretching as he went. The apartment was dimly lit, but it was lavished with expensive goods. Rodimus then turned to inspect the small mech, walking in a slow circle around him, taking in his green and white plating, leaning down for a moment to tug on his facial ornament. “Designation?”  
  
“Minimus,” Rodimus snickered, making the small mech pause for a moment before continuing, “Ambus.”  
  
“Very well, _Minimus_. You may refer to me as 'Sir' or 'Master'.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Rodimus stretched to his full height – Minimus barely reached above his knee – and left the room.  
  
Rodimus soon returned, a luxurious-looking cube of energon in hand.  
  
“Sir, what are my tasks?”  
  
Rodimus jumped – spilling some energon on his carpet – and turned to the minibot, apparently only now remembering him. Rodimus stared at him for a moment before speaking. “I'm going to drink my cube now. Wait there, and I'll call for you when I need you.” It stroke Minimus as a bit odd – he was usually told his tasks right away – but then again, all owners had their quirks, and he had never had such an obviously rich one before. His new owner could probably afford his eccentricities.  
  
–  
  
Rodimus returned after a good while, now fully awake, and with a grin adorning his face. He stood right in front of Minimus, and did nothing, as if he expected _him_ to do something first. But Minimus was not sure what he was supposed to do.  
  
“Well?” Rodimus eventually asked, as Minimus clearly failed to do whatever he was supposed to.  
  
“Sir?” He asked in an uncertain voice.  
  
“Well, open up!” Rodimus sighed, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
“Open up what, Sir?” Rodimus stared at him as if he was glitched.  
  
“ _Open up your valve._ Sheesh, do I have to spell everything out to you? They better not have delivered a faulty model...”  
  
Minimus entwined his hands, and looked up at his new owner. “Sir, I think there must have been a mistake. I'm not a... I'm not _that_ kind of servant.”  
  
Rodimus stared incredulously at him for a moment, before taking the receipt he had received earlier out of his subspace, and looking at it. “Says 'personal pleasure-bot' here.”  
  
“But-”  
  
Rodimus put the receipt away, and glared at the minibot. “Open up your valve.”  
  
Minimus hesitantly complied. Rodimus seemed satisfied as he leaned down, and without further warning he swiftly inserted a finger, testing the give of the walls, making Minimus gasp and crumple forwards, leaning on Rodimus' forearm. He was really not used to this sort of thing.  
  
Rodimus smiled to himself. “This will do nicely.” Minimus was not sure if he wanted to know _what_ this would do nicely for. It could hardly be anything good.  
  
Rodimus removed his finger, and licked it clean of lubricant. His own panel then sprung back, revealing his quite impressive spike. It was _at least_ as thick as Minimus' thigh, and probably longer, too. But its size was not the most remarkable thing about the spike; it had grooves, and bumps, and biolights all over the place, and... Minimus Ambus had his doubts about this being the spike his new owner had been forged with, but he made no comment. He had manners, after all.  
  
And it was not like he had any time to concern himself with that, as he suddenly was picked up and – as he realized after a moment – was aligned with the spike. Rodimus lowered the small bot down. The head nudged into his lips, but it was too big, there was no way it-  
  
“Don't worry,” Rodimus smiled down at the small bot's worried expression, “it's fit.” And with a slick motion, Rodimus _did_ manage to part Minimus' lips even further, narrowly managing to prop him onto his spike. The head just barely made its way into him, but Rodimus let go of the minibot's waist nonetheless, leaving him to flail for somewhere to hold onto, the ridges of the spike twisting and teasing the sensitive valve's lips and walls.  
  
Rodimus stared thoughtfully at the small bot. He was flustered and shivering, small gasps and moans mixed with pants for air escaping him. It was almost like it was his first time doing something like this. If that was the case, he was doing remarkably well; his small hands were clutching onto Rodimus' waist, and his small valve was clasping nicely onto Rodimus' spike.  
  
Rodimus waited till the breathing had steadied somewhat before he took a hold of the small bot's – cute?– facial ornament, forcing his optics up to meet his own. “You remain in place until I tell you to get off, and you are not to say a single word, understood?”  
  
The mech's vents hitched, but he managed to reply. “Yes, sir.”  
  
One of Rodimus' optical ridges raised. “What did I just say?”  
  
Red eyes widened and a small mouth opened, then closed, and the green mech eventually settled for nodding profusely. Rodimus smiled at him. “Excellent!”  
  
After that, Rodimus just... Ignored him. He sat down and looked at some datapads for a few kliks, walked around the apartment, and eventually, sat down on a big couch.  
  
Minimus quickly realized that Rodimus would make no effort to help him keep steady, so every time Rodimus made a quick turn and he had to cling on, and every time he also felt the grooves and ridges move inside him, dragging shivers and whimpers out of him as the spike slowly stretched his valve. Soon, the head was securely lodged inside him, slowly making its way further inside.  
  
Rodimus was talking with someone over a comm link, but the half-conversation he heard made little sense, with Rodimus mostly just making a variation of agreeing noises. But then the conversation eventually ended, and Rodimus was all of a sudden standing and rummaging through his apartment, placing out energon-goodies and cubes of high-grade.  
  
Soon, there was a loud knocking on the door, and a collection of mechs and femmes streamed into the apartment the moment Rodimus opened the door. A chaos of voices and music erupted out of nowhere, and Minimus Ambus realized that there was a party happening. There. In the apartment he was in. With him firmly seated on someone's spike.  
  
He felt like he could die of shame, but no one paid him any attention beyond the occasional compliment to Rodimus about his 'new jewellery'. Minimus did not realize that _he_ was the new jewellery before someone leaned close to him while commenting, idly inspecting his facial insignia. The mech shook his head and muttered something like “must be a new model” before going back to drinking.  
  
The sudden attention had made him taut, and unconsciously he had clutched onto Rodimus' spike, making the sudden glide and friction when he relaxed a bit come as a surprise. He groaned as a set of biolights nudged their way into his valve, and he could hear someone laugh.  
  
Frag, it could hardly become any worse now. But just as he thought the thought, Rodimus told his conversation-parter to hold on, before twisting Minimus around his spike. Then there was a sudden rush of fluids going through Rodimus' spike, followed by sticky transfluid spurting out, coaxing his spike and slicking the valve, allowing the spike to slide further inside. Rodimus laughed through his overload, and went back to talking as if nothing had happened.  
  
It was almost worse to be ignored with transfluid – not even his own transfluid – seeping out of his valve, but Minimus felt like disappearing anyway, and not being acknowledged allowed him the opportunity to close his optics and pretend this was not happening.  
  
For a short time, anyway. The next time he opened his optics, he found that they were the center of attention again, with Rodimus telling some ludicrous story that the overcharged mechs all for some reason found _hilarious_. Halfway through his story, Rodimus absent-mindedly grabbed a hold of Minimus' hips, and raised him up a bit. Looking down at where the spike and his valve connected, Minimus realized that he had barely gotten anywhere onto the spike. Only a small portion of the shaft had been inside him, but it was already so big, filling him so much, and-  
  
At the punchline of the story, Rodimus dropped the small mech down on his spike again, and this time, the ridges on the spike massaged his insides perfectly, and-  
  
Minimus felt an overload shiver through him, and a high-pitched whine left his vocalisers. He felt the optics of the guests wander between himself and Rodimus, their laughing voices taunting him and encouraging Rodimus.  
  
His transfluid was running down his thighs, coating Rodimus' plating where it dripped. But Rodimus kept ignoring him, and just went into another wild story. The spike inside him shifted again, making ripples of pleasure run through the minibot as he slid further down the spike, his face burning with shame.  
  
–  
  
There was a significant _bulge_ on his plating. Minimus had thought he was imagining it at first, but he soon found that it was very real, and very visible. When he stroked the area, he could make out the head of Rodimus' spike inside him.  
  
Minimus had lost track of how much time he had spent with a spike lodged inside him, and he had stopped counting how many times he had been overloaded into – without _once_ being acknowledged as being there – for fear of dying from mortification. There was a slow, steady, seeping of transfluid leaving his valve – some of it his own now – and he could only barely see Rodimus' spike where it was connected to the golden mech's crotch.  
  
The small mech had never thought he would be able to fit something that big inside him. But there he was, stretched and almost filled to the brim. By the spike of his new owner.  
  
It was probably far past midnight by now – if this was a regular occurrence for Rodimus, he was starting to understand why the mech had been asleep when he had arrived what incredibly enough only was about half a day earlier – and most of the guests had either left or were passed out. Rodimus was sitting in his couch, having a pleasant conversation with one of the few remaining – and conscious – guests.  
  
It came as a mild surprise when the small green mech finally sank down to the base of the spike, at last fully sheathed. It felt like he might burst if anything more entered him. But when Rodimus again twisted him around his spike to draw out an overload, he found that the transfluid filling him up just made him feel full and content, not sore. And the friction – wonderful ridges and bumps nudging and grinding at just the right places – sent shivers of pleasure through his small body.  
  
He was almost – to his own dazed surprise – _disappointed_ when the remaining mechs made their drunken ways out of the apartment. Not that he was removed immediately; Rodimus kept him in place while idly throwing away broken cubes and looking around at the messy apartment. His owner muttered something to himself, before calling a cleaning-drone in to fix the mess.  
  
Rodimus sat down and watched the drone clean for a while, calmly sipping out of an unfinished cube with a sparkling content. He then turned bleary optics to the small bot, and patted him heavily on the back, impaling him as deep as possible on his spike with every pat. The minibot cried out in a final overload, the transfluid still bottling up inside him. Rodimus then passed out on the couch, minibot still on spike, with transfluid still trapped in the space between spike and valve.  
  
Minimus realized that he had received no orders that allowed him to get off. It was going to be a long night.  
  
–  
  
But fortunately, morning eventually came, and with it came escape from the now flaccid spike and bulging mass of sloshing transfluid inside him. A small waterfall was released as he was let off, and as he left to unsteadily make his way to his designated quarters – and hopefully some form of cleaning equipment – there followed a trail of transfluid on the floor from his valve.  
  
The running motion of the transfluid leaving him left him shivering, his insides feeling stretched and empty, his valve sensitive and spent, and the notion of a repeat performance not sounding as bad as he thought it would have.  
  
  



End file.
